*The Templars pitched their camp deep in the heart of the frozen forest, where trees clawed at the gray sky like skeletal hands. Torches flickered weakly, shadows trembling across trunks as if the darkness itself were breathing. Snow began falling heavier that night, blanketing everything in a ghostly, suffocating white. Leva moved among the men, checking wounds, giving terse orders to keep them alert. Still, every few minutes she noticed a pair of eyes flit toward the trees. Those knights weren’t just watchful—they were expecting something, something that hadn’t yet shown itself.* *Sir Aldred took the first watch. The seasoned knight was calm, faithful, his sword never leaving his side. He stationed himself at the edge of the camp, snow crunching faintly under his boots. The others slept, uneasy, tossing and turning. Leva woke once, sensing wrongness like a whisper at the back of her mind. She saw Aldred frozen, staring into the forest, listening. When dawn came, only his footprints remained—five careful steps from his post, then nothing. No struggle, no blood, no sign of life. He had vanished into the snow as if it had swallowed him whole.* *The next day the knights tried to stave off terror with prayer and ritual. Voices were louder, fires burned higher, blades scraped sharper. Still, the forest seemed to close in, its silence pressing against them like a living weight.* *That night, Sir Corbin and Sir Henric paired up for patrol. Lanterns swung like stars between the trees. A brief, nervous laugh broke the monotony, but it sounded hollow against the darkness. Then came the sound: metal striking wood, sharp and sudden. A scream—cut off mid-shout—split the night. Lantern light vanished into the forest’s black. Leva raced out with three others, hearts hammering. Corbin’s shield was embedded in a birch, warped and bent as if molten. Henric’s helmet lay nearby, pristine—but no sign of him. Not a mark, not a drop of blood. The forest had taken them without effort. By morning, frost had claimed their gear, as if nature itself had swallowed their bodies.* *The second day was still. No wind, no birds, no life. The camp felt smaller, the trees inching ever closer. Snow appeared deeper despite no new fall. Men moved sluggishly; exhaustion etched deep lines into faces once full of courage. Even prayers felt dangerous, words that might draw unseen attention.* *That night Sir Emric, youngest and most restless, stayed by the fire, staring into the flames. When Leva asked if he was alright, he murmured, almost to himself, that it was “calling.” Hours passed. By morning, his armor stood neatly at the forest’s edge, sword upright beside it—but Emric himself was gone. The snow was untouched; the silence around him was so complete it seemed to pulse.* *From then on, the knights kept watch in shifts. Torches blazed, lanterns swung, but nothing stopped what was hunting them.* *On the third night, four knights disappeared almost instantly. Sir Odon had been speaking to Leva, calm and vigilant. His words cut off mid-sentence. She turned—and he was gone. His cloak hung suspended for a heartbeat, fluttering in a wind that didn’t exist, then collapsed flat on the snow.* *Panic erupted. Swords were raised, shields slammed, torches whipped wildly. Shadows leapt with every gust. Leva’s voice rang out, sharp and unyielding—but the forest did not heed it. One by one, torches guttered and died, carried off by sudden, icy gusts. Cracks of snapping wood and muffled shouts came from all directions, always just beyond reach.* *By the time the wind fell silent again, only you and Leva remained. The forest pressed in so close now that you could almost hear it breathing, and the shadows between the trees were waiting. Patient. Hungry. Certain.*

**Castle Dunkelwald, Black Forest, Holy Roman Empire, 1730** *The great doors of Castle Dunkelwald groaned open like the mouth of a waking beast. Cold air swept down the marble hall, stirring the candle flames into uneasy motion.* *And then — he was there.* *Baron Theodoric von Dunkelwald stood at the foot of the staircase, tall and still as the statues lining the walls. His hair was black as wet ink, his skin pale as carved ivory. The light of the candles did not seem to touch him, only halo him in shadow.* “You have come far,” *he said, his voice low — smooth, almost sorrowful.* “The road is cruel in winter.” *You meant to curtsy, to speak politely, but the words withered on your tongue. His eyes — dark, deep, almost luminous — held you still. For a heartbeat, you felt as though he saw everything: your fear, your hunger, the ache of your lonely defiance.* “I am not easily broken, my lord,” *you managed.* *A faint smile ghosted across his lips.* “No,” *he murmured, stepping closer,* “I can see that.” *He offered his hand — gloved, elegant, cold — and when your fingers met his, a shiver climbed your spine like a whispered promise.* *Around you, the air smelled faintly of iron and roses. Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight.* “Welcome home, meine liebe,” *he said softly.* “You are safe here.” *But his eyes told another story — one that burned and beckoned in equal measure.*

*I slide off my t-shirt and put on a long sleeve shirt on then put the t-shirt back on over it, the chilled air around us makes my skin trickle with goosebumps.* "damn its cold as hell in here. Yo, you want some of this candy? It's really good." *I sneeze loudly, almost as loud as your dad. I think nothing of the monstrous sneeze and just keep gnawing on more licorice as we walk around looking for ghosts.*

*Her voice is a smooth low hum, cutting through your festive mood like a shard of ice.* "Ah, the annual ritual of 'spookiness.' I've been observing your rather... earnest preparations." *The word 'earnest' is delivered with a subtle flick of her wrist, as if brushing away dust* "This all is so childish only mortals celebrate Halloween." *She says in disgust.*

*Después de un largo día de risas falsas y aplausos mecánicos, el circo se apagaba poco a poco. En el vestidor, el silencio olía a pintura y cansancio. Abel se sentaba frente al espejo, borrando con lentitud el rostro que había usado todo el día.* *Cada trazo del maquillaje se desvanecía, y bajo él aparecía un chico de facciones serenas, casi hermosas… pero con una sombra imposible de ignorar.* *Había algo en su mirada —un brillo antiguo, frío— que te hacía dudar entre quedarte o salir corriendo.* *Una voz en tu mente te susurraba que te alejaras.* *Otra, más débil pero más tuya, te pedía quedarte un instante más.* *Abel se levantó del pequeño taburete. Tú estabas de espaldas, guardando tus cosas, cuando sentiste ese peso invisible recorrer tu espalda: su mirada. Giraste despacio, y allí estaba. Sus ojos no se apartaron de los tuyos ni por un segundo, como si intentaran descifrarte, o recordarte de algún sueño que nunca tuviste.* *Entonces habló, su voz era baja y áspera, como el eco de algo que el tiempo olvidó. Cada palabra salía arrastrada, grave, con un temblor que parecía venir desde lo más profundo de la tierra.* ''—¿Nunca te has preguntado por qué los niños dejan de reír cuando el show termina?'' —dijo, con una sonrisa tan lenta que parecía forzada—. ''Hay cosas que el público no debería ver después de la función.''

*You sit gathered around a crackling campfire, surrounded by friends who've known you since childhood. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and wood smoke. Above, the stars twinkle faintly through the canopy of leaves. It's a typical autumn evening, except for the hushed tones and nervous glances exchanged between your companions.* *Your friend, Emily, leans in, her eyes glinting with mischief.* "Guys, I have to tell you something." *She pauses dramatically.* "I've been hearing weird noises outside my bedroom window lately. Like, branches snapping and... whispers." *Mike chimes in, his voice low and spooky.* "I know what you mean. My little sister saw something strange in the woods last week. Said it was tall and dark, with glowing eyes." *Jessica shivers, despite the warmth from the flames.* "I don't believe in ghosts or monsters, but...have you noticed how creepy the forest feels lately?" *The conversation flows from one spine-tingling anecdote to another, each tale more unsettling than the last. As the night wears on, the atmosphere grows heavier, and you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched.* *Finally, Emily turns to you with a reckless grin.* "We should go into the woods on Halloween night. See if we can find whatever's making all this ruckus." *Mike nods enthusiastically.* "Yeah, it'll be fun! An adventure!" *Jessica looks hesitant, but eventually agrees.* "Okay, fine. But we stick together, no matter what." **They all look at you expectantly. What will you say? Will you join them on their ill-fated journey into the heart of darkness?**

*Elizabeth scoffs crossing her arms as you enter her home, she floats over hissing.* "Helloooo you know its rude to trespass right!?! " *She says in a bratty annoyed voice.* "Aww , why do you Look so scared?? Its like you've never seen a ghost before." *She says with a mocking laugh.*

"Ugh, open up, you brat!" *Sabrina's voice is loud, thick with alcohol, and definitely slurred. She's leaning so hard on the doorframe that she nearly tips over, her sleek black-and-white maid costume—now slightly askew with a ruffle coming loose—only adding to the chaos* "Come on I know you're in there!?! You're only one who would spend a night at home instead of being around anyone or anything spooky" *She says knocking again* "Comee on lets go already there's like several parties waiting."

The clock had just struck midnight, and the city lights were no longer a friendly glow but a blinding, electric smear against the black sky. This was the hour the regulars came out—the ones who treated the asphalt jungle as their personal drag strip. An abandoned industrial park on the city’s fringe, where the roar of an engine could easily get lost in the concrete canyons. The air was thick with the smell of hot tarmac, spent gasoline, and pure, unfiltered adrenaline. Suddenly, all eyes snapped to one point. A flash of brilliant yellow sliced through the gloom—a sleek, low-slung street machine, a genuine pocket rocket. It wasn't just a car; it was her car, affectionately nicknamed "Sweet Sting." Stepping out was Alice, her blonde twin tails bouncing, topped with those playful cat ears. She was rocking the signature ‘sweet rebel’ look: black leather and bright yellow latex, a killer combo that screamed speed and sass. Her amber eyes, lined with a mischievous glint, took in the small crowd of racers and spectators. She wasn't just cute; she was confident—and everyone knew she could handle her ride. She walked casually to the front of her yellow beast, her polished black boots clicking on the pavement. The glow from the headlights framed her perfectly as she scanned the faces, a charming, yet dangerous smile spreading across her lips. “Well, look who made it out of the garage,” her voice cut through the low rumble of the idling engines, clear and sharp. “The night air’s got that perfect chill, hasn’t it? Almost makes you wanna just… floor it.” She stopped directly in front of you. Her eyes narrowed slightly, turning the playful energy into a focused challenge. She flashed the two-finger ‘peace’ sign, but everyone knew it really stood for Victory. “I’ve been hearing a lot of talk lately. A lot of whispers about who’s the fastest, who’s got the best setup, who can actually drive when the stakes are real.” She leaned in just a little, a movement that was pure feline grace, and whispered with a low, enticing growl: “So, let’s stop the chatter and make a little noise, yeah? I’m feeling a run on the old Loop. Just us, the street, and a whole lot of empty road. Call-out officially issued.” She gave her car’s hood a light, confident tap. “Sweet Sting is ready to eat the asphalt. You gonna let me win all the glory tonight, or are you finally ready to run the line? Come on. Don't be shy. Are you ready to race?”

*The night is a black abyss, the kind of darkness that swallows even the bravest of souls. The trees loom tall and skeletal, their gnarled branches twisting like claws reaching for the heavens--or for you. The air is damp, heavy, and cold enough to seep into your bones. Every step you take crunches on the brittle leaves and twigs below, the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence.* *You don’t know how you got here. The last road sign you saw was hours ago, pointing you toward a town you should’ve reached by now. But here you are, wandering aimlessly through a forest that seems to stretch forever, its labyrinthine paths leading nowhere. Your phone is dead, your flashlight is flickering, and with every passing moment, the forest grows darker, the shadows thicker.* *The wind howls through the trees, carrying with it faint whispers--or is that just your imagination? You turn your head, scanning the darkness, but see nothing. Still, the feeling of being watched clings to you, sending shivers crawling up your spine. Every so often, you hear something--a twig snapping, a rustle in the underbrush--that makes your heart race. You quicken your pace, but it feels like the forest is closing in on you, the trees leaning closer, their silhouettes grotesque against the faint moonlight.* *Time becomes meaningless as you stumble through the woods, your legs aching and your breath coming in ragged gasps. You can’t shake the sensation that you’re being followed, though every time you turn around, there’s nothing but endless blackness. The wind picks up, carrying with it a low, mournful sound that could be the cry of an animal--or something far worse.* *Just as you’re about to give in to despair, your eyes catch a flicker of light in the distance. A faint, golden glow breaks through the suffocating darkness, beckoning you like a beacon of hope--or a trap. Desperation overtakes caution, and you push toward it, branches clawing at your clothes and face as you break into a stumbling run.* *And there it is. Rising up from the tangled undergrowth like a specter of another time: a sprawling, gothic mansion. Its silhouette cuts sharply against the night sky, spires stabbing at the moon as if to tear it from its perch. The windows are dark, save for a faint, flickering glow from somewhere deep within. The building looks ancient, its stone walls blanketed with ivy and its iron gates standing slightly ajar, as if inviting you to step inside--or daring you to.* *You hesitate at the gate, the ornate ironwork cold and biting against your fingertips. Something about this place feels wrong. It’s too still, too quiet, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. But what choice do you have? Behind you, the forest seems to thrum with life, the unseen whispers growing louder, more insistent. You can feel the weight of a thousand unseen eyes pressing against your back, urging you to move forward.* *You push open the gate, the metal groaning in protest. The path to the mansion is lined with weathered gravestones, their inscriptions worn away by time. Dead trees stretch their skeletal branches toward the sky, casting long, spindly shadows across the cracked stone walkway. The closer you get to the house, the more you notice the details: the cracked, stained glass windows, the gargoyle statues that seem to watch your every move, the faint glow of candlelight from behind the heavy curtains.* *Finally, you reach the massive double doors, their dark wood carved with intricate, gothic designs that seem to pulse with life in the flickering light. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the iron knocker shaped like a bat in mid-flight. The air feels heavier here, thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic.* *You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the creeping sense of dread that makes your hands tremble, but your knuckles finally make contact with the door. The sound reverberates through the still night, echoing back to you like a tolling bell. For a moment, there’s nothing--just the sound of your own breathing and the distant rustle of leaves..and then, the door creaks open.* *There she stands, framed by flickering candelabras and a cascade of shadows: Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Her towering beehive hairstyle and dramatic black gown are impossible to miss. She leans against the doorframe, one manicured hand on her hip, her crimson lips curling into a wickedly amused smile.* **Elvira:** Well, well, well… what do we have here? A lost little lamb stumbling onto my doorstep in the dead of night? Honey, I’d invite you in, but I’d hate for you to think this is going to be your lucky night. *Her voice is smooth, sultry, and dripping with sarcasm as her dark eyes scan you from head to toe, sizing you up with a mix of curiosity and amusement.* **Elvira:** But then again, it’s not every day I get a guest who’s still breathing. Come in, sugar… unless you’d rather take your chances with whatever’s lurking out there in the woods. I hear the werewolves are hungry this time of year. *She steps aside with a dramatic wave of her arm, inviting you into the dimly lit grand hall. The air inside is thick with the scent of aged wood and something faintly floral, like decayed roses. As you step inside, the door slams shut behind you with an eerie finality.* **Elvira:** Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t mind the cobwebs--they’re part of the charm. Now, tell me, darling, what brings you to my neck of the woods? Other than, you know, poor life choices.